


The Dreadfully Mandatory Need for Sleep

by allofthenorth



Category: Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Post-Book One, listen...im gay....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthenorth/pseuds/allofthenorth
Summary: Harrowhark Nonagesimus reluctantly battles through nightmares after falling into Lyctorhood.
Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	The Dreadfully Mandatory Need for Sleep

Harrowhark knew instantly that this was a dream.

Determining the current state of her consciousness had been essential she was ten. She was the most powerful necromancer of her generation. She viewed everything as a challenge to be beaten, and the dreadfully mandatory need for sleep proved no different. If she was going to dream, she would know it. And so she did.

Harrow dreamed that she was standing in Drearbruh, in Gideon Nav’s cell. She sighed, audibly. Not one of the more imaginative nightmares that her subconscious puts her through. Gideon’s bed was made (unlikely) and the stacks of dirty magazines on her nightstand were piled neatly (impossible). Harrow pulled a bone chip from her pocket and tossed it to the ground. As expected, a skeleton rose from the dirty floor and stood at attention before her. With a flick of her chin, she bid her construct to open the door to the cell. Might as well get a start on wandering through the horrors waiting for her. Harrowhark flipped through the magazines on the nightstand. Ever since she absorbed Gideon Nav, the magazines in her dreams have been filled with surprisingly… fleshed out material. Harrowhark rolled her eyes at her own stupid pun. Another unfortunate side effect.

Harrow felt a familiar thickness threatening to settle over her chest, and turned away from the magazines. Her construct stood at attention, holding the door open. Harrow forced herself to stop thinking of her new cavalier tendencies, and instead to focus on navigating the twisting corridors of her dreamscape.

The Lyctor of the Ninth--no, the First--mused about the possible theme for this nightmare as she stalked down the halls. Perhaps she would fight Ianthe again, and lose, pitifully, and have all her limbs ripped off. Perhaps she would find a puzzle of her parents limbs, strewn about her childhood bedroom. Harrow does not let her mind wander to the nightmares with Gideon in them. She rolled her shoulders back and continued to stalk down the long dark corridors. She could feel herself making no progress, but that’s fine. As long as she didn't think about Gi--

“Shit,” breathed Harrow. She was standing back in Gideon’s cell. This time she wasted no time, and stomped over to the cell door, attempted to throw it open herself. It didn’t budge. Harrow rattled the handle again and then kicked the door, immediately cursing herself for letting her guard down. Harrowhark Nonagesimus doesn’t kick doors that don’t open. Stop thinking about her.

Harrow pulled a bone chip from her sleeve and pushed it through the keyhole. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her foot, she formed it into a construct, and had it open the handle from the other side. When the cell door swung open, Harrow wassurprised to see not the bony visage of a skeleton, but a tan human face topped with a shock of red hair. 

Gideon Nav smiled down at her and Harrow let out a small sound as her heart broke.

Harrow rubbed the bridge of her nose and her hand came away clean. Why is there no paint in this dream? She had work to do tomorrow. She didn’t have time to be tortured by the memory of her lost cavalier.

Harrow stared at Gideon’s boots and waved her hand, exerting her will over her subconscious, trying to disperse the illusion in front of her. Normally Harrow would just ride her dreams out. She sleeps better if she lets her subconscious take control for a while, and even Harrow knows she needs the sleep. But this is just fucking petty.

Harrow felt her eyebrows knit together even further. The boots were still there. She waved again, more forcefully this time, and willed herself to wake up. This wasn’t worth it. She could try this “sleep” thing again tomorrow, when her mind had new tortures to throw at her.

But the boots didn’t vanish. In fact, they animated, and moved closer, and then there were warm hands on her cheeks wiping away tears she didn’t realize had come. Gideon’s calloused fingers--a cruel detail--tilted Harrow’s face up, and Harrow reluctantly obliged her subconscious, looking into the honey coloured trap she had set for herself. Gideon Nav stared back and smiled that full grin of hers. Blinding in the dreary darkness in the depths of the Ninth, conjured by Harrow’s pitch black soul as she floated in a tin can through the inky blackness of space. The image of Gideon Nav opened her mouth, probably to say something heart-wrenching, to finally obliterate the tiny shred of a heart that Harrowhark Nonagesimus had left.

“Boo yeah.”

Harrow blinked. Gideon grinned wider, hands still cupping the sides of Harrow’s face.

“I did it, Nonagesimus. I fucking DID IT.” Gideon moved in a way that Harrow could only describe as a _delighted wiggle_, and continued to grin down at her necromancer. “Your brain is a fucking maze. I don’t understand how you get anything done in here, how you sort out all these thoughts. Luckily I didn’t need any of that shit to break through. Turns out punching is the ultimate solution to any puzzle.” Gideon tilted her stupid head to the side, not breaking that piercing eye contact. “You need to sleep more.”

Her dead cavalier was still smiling that shit-eating grin as the tidal wave broke over Harrow.

Gideon the Ninth. Gideon the fucking Ninth was standing in front of her. In dream form. Gideon the Ninth had cut her way through the blended slurry of necromancer and cavalier in Harrow’s mind, and stood here, in their conjoined mind, holding Harrow’s face, and smiling that stupid, cocky grin. 

Harrow leapt on her. Their mouths crushed together, Harrow’s lips on Gideon’s stupid teeth and on her face and on her neck. Gideon’s strong, warm arms wrapped around Harrow’s body, pulling her violently closer, as though Gideon was trying to meld them back into one consciousness with just the strength of her biceps.

Harrow’s hands grabbed at red hair and the two stumbled back into Gideon’s cell, falling on the bed in a heap of limbs and black robes and hormones. Gideon’s mouth had found its way to Harrow’s neck and Harrow let out a deep, guttural moan.

“Nav, I missed you so fucking much.”

Gideon pulled back, resting on her hands on the bed and propping herself up. Harrow hadn’t even realized she had spoken, and squirmed under the intense amber gaze.

“I’ve been here the whole time, idiot,” said Gideon, and she tapped a finger to Harrow’s forehead. Harrow rolled her eyes and pulled her necromancer back down into her, determined to kiss that smile off her stupid, beautiful face.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally the first fanfiction I've ever published so go EASY ON ME. I just want the goths to KISS, PLEASE.


End file.
